i was never good at writing until you broke my heart enough to have the words spilling out of my mouth

I’ve never been any good at math, but I know that I’m only a fraction of myself since you left the first time. I hate that you’ve reduced me to nothing but blank stares and bloodshot eyes, but I still wish you were here to make me whole again.
I wish you were here to be mine again.
I’ve never been any good at anything at all, but don’t tell me I wasn’t good at being yours. I was so in love with you that I wanted to write it on every surface of your skin and every nerve ending. I wanted you to feel my love in your bloodstream even after you left.
I hope my lips still haunt you when you don’t fall asleep fast enough. I hope you look for me in every persons face you see on the sidewalk and I hope you look for my blue eyes every time you see her murky brown ones.
I hope you realize you made a mistake when you kiss her neck and suddenly wish you weren’t tasting her skin, but mine instead.
I hope it tears you apart and I hope you call me on the phone at 3 am because you need to tell me you’re sorry, but god, please can we just try again.

I hope I don’t pick up.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

once my therapist told me to make a list of all the things I’ve felt like I’ve lost control of and I told her I didn’t know where to start

I guess I could say that I miss knowing what I’m feeling. Everything’s so blurry these days, you know? I can’t remember last Thursday any more than I can remember the Thursday before that. I can hardly remember the days of the week anymore.

I wish that I knew what the fuck I was doing. I wish I knew why I wake up everyday, and I keep going and going, even though it’s unbearable most of the time. I wish I fucking knew why everything got so hard. I wish I knew why I got sad. God, what the fuck is that? What the fuck is this “sadness”. It doesn’t feel like anything I know but it’s the most familiar thing I’ve ever experienced. It feels like there’s this ache.This soul-ripping and excruciating ache that’s taken a hold of every part of me. I don’t fucking remember the last time I felt okay. Happiness feels like some kind of distant and unreachable concept that I’m supposed to somehow get to, even when it feels like I’m taking two steps back every day that I spend living like this.

I wish I knew why I keep letting my heart get broken. I wish I knew why heartbreak was the most concrete feeling I’ve ever had the devastating experience to live through. I wish I had more control of how my life is going and I wish I knew why things just keep happening. I wish I knew how the fuck to love myself in the skin that I’m constantly trying to rip apart. See, I’d write a list of all the things I don’t have control over anymore, but I think that list would go on for pages, and nobody wants to fucking read that. So here I am, writing a list that seems never ending, and still feeling the way I felt at the beginning. Not sure when everything started, but I’m pretty sure I’ve had enough of it.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write


the problem with having low self esteem is that your perspective is so warped.
you could be really intelligent and you’d still think you were stupid.  you could be so so beautiful and still look in the mirror and cringe.
it’s not even a consistent thing.
some days you wake up feeling really good about yourself and everything is okay, but it’s such a fragile confidence that’s so easily shattered.
and it sucks because you’re always left unsure and stuck between this need for self-positivity and the notion of “but don’t want to lie to yourself.”


Once again, I am posting about how thankful I am that I have G in my life. I turned off my alarms yesterday in my sleep, and he came upstairs to wake me up. Running late to work last night, he made me coffee, warming up the cold brew just enough so I would be able to chug it. He told me to be careful and sent me on my way with a kiss goodbye and an “I love you.” He is an extraordinary man and puts up with me on my good days and bad. He is patient and kind, loving and passionate about so many things, and most importantly, he cares for me. It’s little things like last night that make me realize, G is the complete opposite of anyone I’ve been in a relationship with before and honestly, I am so very grateful to have him. Okay I’m done being gross.

shout out to

My man, G.

For the past year he’s loved me, supported me, cuddled me when I needed it most, left me alone when I was sobbing and saying that “i just couldn’t.”, cooked with me, shopped with me, matched me at our friend’s wedding, introduced me to shows/games/books I wouldn’t have sought out on my own, floated with me, went to game night despite the fact he didn’t want to, put up with me on multiple occasions of embarrassing situations that we DON’T talk about, made sure I’m eating and taking care of myself, and grown with me as we both learned to open up and talk about things rather than pushing it down and letting it consume us. Not to mention he puts up with me working night shift, and I only get to see/sleep next to him for 30 minutes before he has to get ready and leave for work.

I promise it won’t always be like this and I promise to stop running away every time I cry. And I promise to stop crying so much because honestly these breakdowns I’ve been having without any provocation are getting really old and I just wanna be happy instead of secretly crying into my pillow while you’re sleeping next to me.

Also America sucks, woo!

It’s okay to laugh. (Crying is cool too)

I’m having a really rough time lately and honestly, I don’t even know why.

It could be work, life, stress, health, anything really, because depression doesn’t care whether you’re in a loving relationship and have a good job and some really cool friends. You will still cry yourself to sleep after running away from your boyfriend despite the fact he tried to cradle/cuddle you and told you he wasn’t going anywhere and that everything will be okay.

Depression doesn’t care that you have no reason to feel sad or upset or paranoid that your boyfriend is going to break up with you so he can date his ex girlfriend, because you know what? He probably should, she was a normal, stable, dancer with her college degree and you’re still trying to figure out your life and crying for no fucking reason.

Depression doesn’t care that you want to continue your happy life, because once that switch has been triggered, all you think about is how everyone would be much better off without you. Even people across the globe that you’ve never even met would be better off if you didn’t exist.

I’m just having a really rough time lately, and talking about it is last thing I’m able to do. I know I’m getting bad again, but it seems like all that works is to just ride it out and hope for the best.

I’m sorry to post something so downbeat, but that’s how mental illnesses work. It’s how recovery works. You’re never just “cured” and more often than not, you will have these days of relapse.

17 year old writings

I was cleaning out my old childhood bedroom the other day when I found a folded note in one of my night stand drawers.  while I wrote this roughly eight years ago (at age 17), it still resonates in my heart.
it’s almost as if my writings are only good when I’m depressed and suicidal, heart broken and barely keeping afloat, you know, never when I’m happy.

Last night I got to love you like there’d never been anyone else.
This morning I woke up to the sound of you leaving.  You were packing your things and you were telling me you were sorry.
I watched you in silence and I didn’t ask you to stay.
When you were ready, I walked you to the door and I closed all the windows.  I removed the “welcome” doormat and changed the locks, because I knew you were going to come back. 
You’re going to come back and you’re going to choose to love me then, but by then it’s going to be too late.  You can’t choose not to love me now and love me later because you’re “scared” or because you’re alone or because everything is caving in on you.
What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you, but I know better now.
You’re never going to love me like I deserve, and I shouldn’t have to keep waiting for you to get it right.

– except from a book I’ll never write